Latest / Aurangzeb: The Emperor Who Expanded and Broke the Mughal Empire — Fexingo History / Aurangzeb's Calligraphy: The Emperor as Scribe
Transcript
- Lucas: We've talked a lot about Aurangzeb the warrior, the tax collector, the temple destroyer. But there's a quieter side to him that rarely gets attention — and it's one of the most human windows into who he was. Luna: The calligrapher, right? I've read that he copied the Quran by hand. Lucas: Exactly. Aurangzeb was a practicing calligrapher, and he took it seriously. He copied the Quran multiple times over his lifetime — not just as a ritual act, but as a disciplined art. Some of these manuscripts survive today in museums in Lahore, Istanbul, and even in private collections. Luna: Wait — he actually sat down and wrote out the entire Quran? That's thousands of pages. Lucas: It is, and he did it more than once. According to the maasir i alamgiri, his official court history, Aurangzeb would spend part of each day in his private chambers practicing calligraphy. He employed master scribes to teach him, and he insisted on using the Naskh script — clear, readable, not overly ornate. He even wrote a Quran in microscopic script: the entire book on a single sheet of paper. That one is said to have been sent to Mecca. Luna: On one sheet. That's... mind-boggling. Lucas: It's a feat of concentration and skill. But it also raises a question: was this genuine piety, or was it a calculated image? Aurangzeb was acutely aware of his public persona — he wanted to be seen as the 'Alamgir', the world-seizer, but also as a pious Muslim ruler. Calligraphy was one way to bridge that gap. It's deeply personal, but also visible. He sent his Quran copies as gifts to mosques and shrines, reinforcing his legitimacy. Luna: So it's both. He might have genuinely loved it, but he also knew it looked good. Lucas: Right. And there's a fascinating contrast with his father Shah Jahan, who poured resources into monumental architecture — the Taj Mahal, the Peacock Throne. Aurangzeb's patronage was more intimate. He commissioned illuminated manuscripts of the fatawa e alamgiri, his legal code, and had them decorated with gold and lapis lazuli. But he himself lived austerely — he slept on a bare floor, wore simple clothes, and refused to let music be performed at court. His calligraphy fit that ascetic image. Luna: Do we know how many Qurans he actually copied? Lucas: The sources vary. The maasir i alamgiri mentions that he completed at least seven copies. One is now in the Topkapi Palace Museum in Istanbul — it's dated 1693, so he would have been in his mid-seventies by then. Another is in the Badshahi Mosque in Lahore. Each one has a colophon with his signature and the date. He wrote them in a steady hand — not the most flamboyant calligrapher of his era, but competent and deliberate. Luna: There's something moving about an emperor, in the middle of a war that's draining his empire, sitting down to write out scripture. Lucas: It's a very human image. And it's not something you see with many other rulers. The Ottoman sultans practiced calligraphy too — Mehmed II, for instance — but Aurangzeb seems to have elevated it to a daily discipline. His court chronicler Mirza Muhammad Qazim records that he would sometimes write for hours after his morning prayers, and that he gave away his completed Qurans as charity, refusing to sell them. Luna: That tracks with his reputation for personal frugality, even stinginess. Lucas: Exactly. He wasn't one for lavish displays. But here's the irony: while he was personally humble, his calligraphy became part of the imperial propaganda machine. His Qurans were displayed in major mosques, and his name as a scribe added to his religious authority. It's a subtle kind of power — the power of piety performed. Luna: You know, speaking of things that are both personal and public — if today's episode felt worth a coffee to you, that's exactly the link. Buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It helps us keep going ad-free. Lucas: Yeah, listener support really does make a difference. We're grateful for every bit of encouragement. So back to Aurangzeb's pen — there's also a technical dimension to his calligraphy that's worth noting. Luna: What do you mean? Lucas: He used a specific type of reed pen, and he insisted on high-quality paper from Kashmir. The ink was carbon-based, mixed with gum arabic to give it a slight gloss. In one of his letters, he complains about a batch of paper that was too rough — he says it 'catches the pen and distracts the heart from devotion.' So he was a perfectionist about the material side as well. Luna: That's such a revealing detail — 'distracts the heart from devotion.' It shows he saw the physical act as worship. Lucas: Absolutely. He wasn't just producing texts; he was performing an act of devotion that required the right tools. And he trained under some of the best calligraphers of his time, including a man named Mulla Muhammad Taqi, who was known for his mastery of the Naskh and Thuluth scripts. Aurangzeb's own style is sometimes called the 'Alamgiri' hand — it's a variant of Naskh, slightly more compressed, with shorter ascenders. Luna: So there's a whole school of calligraphy named after him? Lucas: Not officially, but some later Mughal scribes imitated his style, and it's referenced in later manuals. His influence on Mughal calligraphy is real, even if it's overshadowed by his military campaigns. And it connects to a broader tradition: Islamic rulers from the Umayyads onward have used calligraphy as a marker of legitimacy. The difference with Aurangzeb is the sheer scale of his personal output. Luna: And the fact that he did it while running an empire at war. Lucas: Right. He was in the Deccan for the last 25 years of his life, constantly moving camp, yet he still maintained his practice. His moving library included calligraphy tools, and he would write even in the field. There's a story from the maasir i alamgiri that during a lull in the siege of Golkonda, he sat under a tree and completed a section of the Quran. Whether that's literally true or a hagiographic detail, it shows how his calligraphy was woven into his image as a ruler. Luna: It also humanizes him in a way that's missing from the usual narratives. Lucas: Exactly. We tend to see him as a monolith — the zealot, the expander, the breaker. But here's a man who spent hours alone with a reed pen and ink, trying to perfect a single letter. That doesn't excuse his policies, but it does remind us that historical figures are complicated. He was capable of both brutal war and quiet, meticulous devotion. Luna: Are any of his Qurans still accessible to the public? Lucas: Yes, the one in the Badshahi Mosque in Lahore is sometimes displayed. The Topkapi copy is in their manuscript collection, but it's not always on view. There's also one in the Salar Jung Museum in Hyderabad, India — that one is particularly fine, with gold illumination on the opening pages. And a few have appeared at auction, fetching high prices because of the historical association. Luna: It's strange to think of an emperor's personal Quran being bought and sold. Lucas: It is, but that's the fate of many historical objects. The irony is that Aurangzeb himself gave them away as charity. He wanted them to be used, not hoarded. In one of his letters, he says, 'A Quran that sits in a treasury is like a sword that never leaves its scabbard.' He wanted his copies to be read. Luna: So in a way, the fact that they're in museums means they're still being looked at, even if not read. Lucas: That's a nice way to put it. And it brings us back to the central tension: Aurangzeb the iconoclast versus Aurangzeb the scribe. He destroyed temples, but he also created sacred texts. He silenced music, but he elevated the written word. Maybe that's the key to understanding him — not as a contradiction, but as a man who believed deeply in the power of discipline, whether in war or in art. Luna: A fascinating lens to end on. Thanks, Lucas. Lucas: Thanks, Luna. And thank you for listening.